


Masquerade

by ForgetMeNotFanFics



Series: Facade [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Kidnapping, Strained Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-09 16:52:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11673213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForgetMeNotFanFics/pseuds/ForgetMeNotFanFics
Summary: Sequel to Facade. Mireille has been betrayed by Jonathan and taken by an unknown captor. Will she struggle to return to him or stay with her kidnapper to avoid the Scarecrow's wrath? Meanwhile, how will Jonathan react to his missing lover? (Rating for dark themes)





	1. Chapter 1: Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, this is part 2 of my series: Facade. If you haven’t read it yet, please do so before starting on this installment or you will be confused and not at all invested in the characters. Now, this is a short chapter, the reason behind that is because although I set a deadline, I didn’t want to rush through the writing process and bring a half made chapter. Instead I have a short chapter that helps prepare you for Masquerade as a whole. The next chapter will come when I feel it is complete and unrushed.

**Chapter 1: Awakening**

* _May_   _14_ *

" _Because." I whispered the next part of the sentence. "I might not have to break my promise."_

" _You're thinking of marrying him?" Theresa asked, clearly enthusiastic about the announcement._

" _Yeah," I admitted. Sharing the news helped put myself at ease after dealing with the recurring thought for so long._

" _I will, of course, be the maid of honor." She practically demanded over the phone._

" _Yeah, of course" I giggled._

I woke up after reliving the faint memory, my head aching from the after effects of the chloroform I'd been forcibly knocked out with. My first instinct was to move, but my wrists and ankles were being held down to a wood chair by coarse ropes. I struggled against them for a short while before admitting defeat. Looking around the nearly pitch black room, I grew more terrified by the minute as my eyes adjusted to a darkness that had swallowed me whole.

Upon attempting to think up some comforting thoughts, my lip began trembling, because those sweet memories had been made bitter by Jonathan's horrid disclosure. Thinking of his stuttering proposal made me recall our marriage was designed as a trap. Remembering Jolie's adorable behavior lead me to the realization that the puppy would be placed in his hands after Teresa was done looking after her. Would the man experiment on the St. Bernard too? Had he already?

My eyes started aching from the pain in my head and the flood of foul thoughts permeating my mind. I reflexively reached to wipe away the tears only to rediscover that the range of my hand was limited to a centimeter by the binds. Of course, how could I be so stupid as to forget. Looking down and toward my legs, I felt my shoulders tremble as I cried. The room was dead silent aside from the faint sobs I was making until my throat started seizing and soft coughs rattled tears off my cheeks and onto my skirt. They culminated and formed a darkened patch of salty water on the fabric.

_"I've been doing this since before you came into my life, and you won't start having an impact on me now."_

I shuddered, the man could very well be beyond saving, and if he wasn't, would he even be worth it? Years of animal abuse coupled with recent experimentation on humans shouldn't be something a spouse puts up with for the sake of the relationship.

" _Mireille!"_

His outcry echoed loudly in my head. No, I couldn't think he wanted to apologize or make things right after I'd run away. He tortured others, and while talking about it he even had a grin on his face. What would we even discuss if I answered his cries, let alone dared to walk back to that house? Would he bind me to that bed in the basement and torture me? Ensure I wouldn't talk by ending my life in an 'accident'? I didn't want to think about it.

I blinked my damp eyes to clear them of tears before analyzing the room as best I could. Slivers of light peeked from around the poorly hung door across from me and I shuddered when I saw streaks of blood trailing under it. Turning either way, I spotted familiar objects to my right. There, on the dusty floor, was the silhouette of my ratty old messenger bag and a leather bound box that was much newer. My eyebrows furrowed, the syringe? Why would my captor ransack the apartment for a syringe? Even the engagement ring on my finger was present, why didn't they remove that if they desired valuables?

Thinking back over the criminal's I had treated, I started to compose a list of the people who may have captured me. Two Face hardly ever showed much of an interest in me, although he did offer advice on occasion. His advice, I now realized, was designed to keep me from getting involved in Jonathan's experiments in solitary. Then there was the Riddler. He had talked to me a lot over the years and did seem to be somewhat fond of me. Perhaps it was him? But wouldn't there be florescent paint on the walls or a puzzle challenging me? Killer Croc was still in the asylum and strapping someone to a chair and using chloroform rags hardly seemed his style if he did manage to get out, nor did it seem like something Poison Ivy would do. I wasn't blonde, striking the Mad Hatter off the list, and Joker wouldn't be the type to just lock me in a room. I imagine there would be a kid's train set with a knife attached to it slowly slicing my ankles or balloons filled with blood popping next to my ears. The last scenario made me recall watching a horror movie with Jonathan that contained such a method of mental torture. So that was why he liked watching my face during similar films, he found my fear interesting.

I lowered my head and suffered through the pounding headache and grating thoughts for what felt like hours. Then, I smelt something burning. My grip on the arms of the chair grew tight, was I to be burnt alive? I waited for it to dissipate or an alarm to sound, but it only grew stronger over the next few minutes. I began praying under my breath as I tried once more to loosen the binds by jerking my wrists and ankles against the unyielding ropes. Then, I heard a voice.


	2. Chapter 2: Captor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for the delay, I had a very intense and eventful summer that was full of ups and downs that took away from my writing time.

**Chapter 2: Captor**

* _May 14_ *

"Aw phooey, burnt em again. I leave for five minutes!" There was a pause. "Eh, if she's hungry, she'll eat it." So it was burning food then, I felt relieved by that at least. "Henshaw! Where's the buttah?" The shrill, accented woman yelled. "And if you say 'on yah hips' I'll pop you!"

"Drawer on the side of the fridge." A gruff, but wary, voice replied from farther away.

So it was Harley Quinn then. I hadn't interacted with her much aside from the surgery I'd performed on her trachea nearly six months ago, so her kidnapping me seemed odd. Perhaps she was under orders from the Joker himself, but what would the Clown Prince of Crime want with me?

I started to relax, the mystery of my captor having been solved. However, my relief was short lived as I took in the trail of blood under the door and recalled the Joker's history of torturing his victims rather than just killing them. Before that fear had a chance to settle in though, the barrier between the criminal and I burst open, light flooding in and blinding my dilated eyes for a few moments.

The silhouette confirmed my suspicions by outlining Harley's trademark pigtails. As color eased in, I saw that her shoe-less legs were covered in black knee high socks with red ribbons weaved in around the top and her upper body covered by a shirt five times too big for her. But what really caught my attention was her face. Remnants of makeup still clung to her skin after what was most certainly a rough night's sleep. Her mascara and eyeliner bled down in smudged, black streams and her blush was ruined on one side in particular.

"Heya Doc! Howya… wait a sec." The hand holding a plate of burnt pancakes lowered alongside her grin. "Whatcha cryin about? Henshaw!" She turned to yell, the meal almost slipping off the plate from the sudden motion. "Did you let anybody in here? I told you not to fuckin hurt her!"

"I didn't Harley." The same voice from before yelled back from beyond my line of sight.

"Nice story." The blonde snapped. "Who did it?" she whipped around to look at me, the topmost hotcake slipping onto the floor and the neck hole of her oversized, red shirt slipping to show a black, lacy bra strap. "Was he thin or fat?" I shook my head, denying either. "So he was normal sized?" Harley asked with a tilted head, one pigtail now hitting her cheek.

"N-nobody." I said shakily. "Bad day."

"Aww, sweetie." Harley used a napkin to wipe my eyes a tad harshly. "Cause of this?" She gestured to the dungeon-esque room, "things could be way worse, you know? You should count yahself lucky my Puddin put me in charge of gettin you. Imagine if those other bozos had to capture you." She pinched my cheek and shook my head with the tight grip. "Then you'd have a good reason to cry."

I nodded when she let go, not wanting to think about the possible treatment I could have endured.

"Brought you some food. I trust you don't have secret ninja trainin or somethin, so I'll untie you." She set the tray down and opened a pocket knife before sawing at the binds around my wrists. "Don't try anythin funny though, Henshaw's on the other side of the door and a whole floor of goons are below us."

Nodding my head once again, I flexed my hands when they'd been freed and eyed the chaffing on my wrists. As I was unconscious for most of my stay, there was minimal damage.

"I noticed you have a cut one fingah, and a jewel on the othah. He make up to you with the stone, or other way 'round." Harley made smalltalk as she liberated my ankles.

"Other way." My voice was scratchy from the tears. I cleared my throat and continued. "It was an accident."

"Ah, 'accident'. I hear you." I was about to defend Jonathan, but decided not to bother. Instead, I removed my ring and stared at it for a few moments. Taking off my necklace, I threaded it through the chain and listened to the soft click it made upon colliding with my metal cross. I wasn't sure way to do with the artifact yet, but for now I didn't feel it belonged on the finger.

"Real bad day?" Harley seemed to notice the action and latch onto it. Of course, she was a psychiatrist before all this.

"Awful." I mumbled, tucking the necklace under my blouse. "And I don't want to talk about it."

"That's fine." She grinned. "Plenty of those days myself."

I accepted the plate of pancakes she offered, taking my time to cut the food into small pieces incase they tasted funny enough to warrant I refuse eating them. "If you don't mind me asking," I wanted to pull away from my relationship issues, "why would you bother tying me up only to remove the bindings so quickly?"

"Puddin stores some of his weapons in here, didn't want you grabbin any of them." Harley pointed to the wall behind me. Turning around, I saw that I certainly was in a torture chamber. There were no guns, only saws, hammers, pliers, a crowbar, and more sinister tools I knew he would have a fun time thinking up creative ways to use. However, what I fixated on were the knives. The various sized blades were polished and clean, unlike the other tools. He must have taken pride in them. My face turned white, I didn't think I could eat where so many had undoubtedly perished.

"C-can I eat out there?" I nodded toward the well lit room she'd emerged from.

"Hmm?" Harley looked around, confused by my not wanting to eat here. "I suppose it is kinda dark. Gimmie a sec." Taking a dented baseball bat off of one of the higher shelves, she returned to me. "Remembah, no funny ideas. Except the really funny ones. I love those." She grinned, jerking her head to inform me to follow. Picking up the plate, I trailed behind her.

The room I was guided into was large, being a combination of kitchen, dining room, and living area. I supposed their base of operation was an abandoned loft which underwent some construction to create separate rooms, as there wasn't a bed in my line of sight. The other piece of evidence supporting this theory was that only three of the walls were made of brick while the one just behind me was smooth like drywall.

The kitchen I was led toward seemed old, but clean. Spotting a garbage bin full of takeout, I figured that they hardly did their own cooking, thus leaving the counter space free of grime. The fridge's loud rumbling and a strong smell of smoke greeted me as I took a seat at the table just beside the area. "Henshaw, why didn't you open any damn windows?"

I assumed Henshaw to be the only other person in the area and he confirmed my suspicion by grumbling in response to Harley's blatant command. The henchman glared at me over a newspaper, his legs crossed on a small coffee table with countless grooves marring it. He was a squat man with mousy brown hair that receded slightly, making his forehead much larger and the thick eyebrows above his dark eyes more prominent. Shoving the paper aside, he got off of the large, mustard yellow couch and walked around opening windows. It looked to be mid morning, as the sun was already in the sky and casting light into the building.

Eating the pancakes, I coughed slightly, the charred bits tickling my throat on the way down. As I scraped away the blackened sections of the food, Harley began talking. "I recommend you eat what you can, don't know when you'll be gettin yah next meal."

Nodding, I ate what I could stomach with the fear of what would come next hovering over me. Harley was seated next to me, her head resting on her fist as she watched me eat in silence.

"Puddin said you were funny." She mumbled, poking my shoulder to spur me on like a child tapped glass barriers at the zoo. Much like the efforts of overly eager children, hers were fruitless. "But yah just sad." I bowed my head, shrinking a little in my seat. "Whateva, I don't need you to be funny." Standing up, Harley stretched her arms, showing she was indeed wearing short shorts beneath the oversized T Shirt that draped over her thighs. "Well Doc, I've got a simple job for you." My captor walked into the darkly lit room and retrieved my bag and the small, leather box. "Fix up my Puddin for me. He's not been himself and between you and me, he don't smell nice either."

"He could have some festering wounds." I slowly stood up, unsure if she would tell me to stop. However, Harley seemed fine with it. "What happened?"

"He was workin on a bomb and the prototype went off without him realizing. It was a smaller scale, but a some chips of metal got lodged inside. We got it cleaned pretty good and threw some vodka on it for safety, but it looks gross." She stuck out her tongue.

"Alcoholic beverages are good in a pinch, but aren't the best way to sterilize wounds. You see it on all the shows, but in truth it isn't practical. He's probably got an infection deeper in the cut." I took my bag from her and opened it. The bandages and individual disinfectant packets would hardly be enough to remedy the situation if it was as bad as Harley thought. At least I had some gloves and a mask though, that would prevent anything he contracted spreading to me.

"Well, we was in a pinch." The blonde replied snarkily. " 'Sides, it was better than nothin."

"That I agree with." Placing the strap of the bag over my shoulder, I looked toward my captor. "Now, can you take me to him so I can get a look at his injuries for myself."

"No prob." She grinned, resting the baseball bat behind her neck and letting her hands hold either end to keep it in place. Now walking with more of a spring in her step, she made her way two doors down from the chamber I was kept in. However, she stopped abruptly before the bullet hole riddled door. "Henshaw!" Harley whipped around to look at him. "If the Doc comes out without me b'side her, you know what to do, right?"

The man lazily pulled out a gun from inside his coat and pointed it dead at me. "I've done this enough Harley." The man waved around the firearm. "I know the drill, take out the knees, ask questions later."

I shivered, staring down the barrel of the pistol only twenty feet away from me. One twitch of his finger and I would almost certainly be dead.

"Avoid hitting her hands at all costs. Without them, she's useless." Harley opened the door behind me, but I kept my eyes locked on the weapon until he lowered it. Pulling my eyes away, I saw the goon named Henshaw had a wide grin on his face.

"Good, you should be afraid of it. There's a reason I'm up here and the riff raff are down below. I don't miss." Harley pushed me into the room after I gawked at the man for longer than she liked.

Closing the door between me and the criminal, I heard a wheezy voice originating from the askew, unkempt bed before me. "I want my Doc." The sick man called from beneath the stained covers. "Bring me my Doc!" He snapped before breaking into a fit of coughs. Before addressing the Joker, I was overcome with a horrible, familiar stench. Turning to my right, I saw a bloody corpse crumpled in the corner of the room.

"H-Harley." She followed my line of sight.

"Oh, I thought he wanted his current doctah before and he got angry and shot the bozo almost instantly. Second guy was 'cause I didn't wanna come back empty handed. I think yah good though. Third times the charm." She smiled and crossed her fingers in the dimly lit room.

I cleared my throat to make my presence known. "M-Monsieur J?" I approached slowly, not wanting to be so far away that he would shoot me without recognizing who I was and not wanting to move too fast, thus spurring him into killing me in what he felt was 'self defense'. "It's me, Dr. Milenkovic. Your erm… Doc."

"Doc?" He looked at me with surprisingly lucid eyes. "Where ya been? Harley started staking your apartment two days ago." He coughed. "Should've seen the quacks she brought before."

I didn't offer support or scorn to his rude comment on the late doctors, instead I approached him and pulled down the crumpled, red coverlet. Undoing the buttons of his shirt, I began conversing with the Clown Prince of Crime. "Well, it's a good thing I gave you all those vaccines or you could be looking at tetanus." I analyzed the puss riddled wounds. "However, I think you'll just need some strong antibiotics and a good cleaning. As soon as you head over to Arkham, you should be set." I stood up straight and saw that his green eyes had closed. Placing my hand to his head, I grew concerned at the heat.

"Whadaya talkin about Doc? Puddin ain't going to Arkham, you can treat him here." She took a hand off her bat to point at the wood floor beneath our feet.

"If it were a simple scrape, I could realistically clean and bandage it with ease, but this requires digging, stitching, cleaning, cutting. I need to be in a professional environment." I addressed her now. "With proper lighting, tools, and anesthesia."

"You don't need all that fancy crap." Harley let the bat slide free from behind her back, swinging the weapon so it would smack her open palm in a threatening manner. "I'll bet you can do a pretty good job without it."

I stared at the melee weapon. "Your threats won't change the facts. I need antibiotics to flush his system of bacteria and sutures to close the wounds. If you have me work without those tools, you'll be risking his life." I retorted. "And if you do kill me and try another doctor, you will get the same story. Either get me the proper tools to do it here, or take him to a hospital."

"My Mistah J isn't gonna be brought back to Arkham over a baby infection." She slammed a sock covered foot down. "We've got enough tools for you to work with." The blonde gestured to a wheeled cart pressed against the wall.

Walking over, I saw rusted medical tools crusted with blood, fishing wire, and three needles intended for fabric rather than flesh. There was even a butter knife coated in puss among an array of makeshift equipment. "I-." I was speechless. "There has to be better than this. Harley, these tools are deplorable."

"It's what I got." She looked distraught, the bat limply falling to her side, barely in her grip. I paused for a moment, looking between the crazed woman and her ill lover. I knew the Joker would never turn himself in for medical help, he wouldn't live down the backlash from his fellow rogues after hearing such a 'wussy' story. Which either meant he would stay here, killing medical professionals one at a time as they failed to treat him back to health, or he would die.

"What I need," I took a deep breath. "Should be equipment you can find at any vet, clinic, or hospital. I'll give you the list, and the Joker will be just fine, if you promise not to hurt or kill anyone. Plenty of clinics are closed on Sundays, you could be in and out within twenty minutes. As for antibiotics, I can write you a prescription. I keep my pad on me at all times." Pulling out the square pad from my bag, I prepped a pen. "You only need to give me the name of a henchman and they can pick it up at any pharmacy. This is pretty standard stuff, the pharmacist wouldn't bat an eye."

She bit her lip, the lipstick there already smeared from the repetitive action. "Then my Joker will be fine?"

I smiled softly at the concerned woman, nodding. "Yes, Monsieur J will be well on his way to a full recovery."

XXXXX

I woke up expecting to be surrounded by police officers, to have the Batman's hand around my throat, to have guns pointed at my head, ordering I comply with their demands. But it was far from reality. I sat up on the clear, Sunday morning to the sound of chirping birds. Although their cries made my head ache, it failed to aggravate me.

Turning to look behind me, I assumed for half a second to see her curled up under the covers, last night either forgiven or a horrible nightmare. But she wasn't there. There wasn't any evidence she ever had been. I put my hand to my head, the cool feel of it quelling my headache only slightly. Rising from under the crumpled sheets, I took a few steps around the room before deciding to leave it. If Mireille had granted me the dignity of a few hours to hide more incriminating evidence, I would take advantage of it. Unless she didn't tell the police out of shame for being engaged to such a man. I froze when I reached the hallway. Her bedroom door was open, and from within it, the sound of French pop echoed off the walls.

Was she back? My heart lept at the thought, the possibility, the hope of a second chance. To explain, to apologize, to ask her to stay. My feet carried me down the seemingly endless hallway. Standing just before the open door, I took a breath and peered inside.

Empty.

My heart sunk. She was gone, almost certainly for good. But it still felt strange when I crossed the doorway, I didn't feel as if the room was part of my house. It was hers, the atmosphere was entirely different, it felt lived in. My belongings were just that, things which helped me get by during the time I spent here. Her items were possessions, representations of her as a whole.

The quilt neatly folded at the foot of her bed that had been washed so many times, it had lost its once vibrant color. The box of treats kept on a high shelf with masking tape depicting the last time her dog had received the fatty food. A lavender candle on her dresser she habitually lit when reading romance books. The jewelry box which contained accessories she rarely wore while the modest ceramic bowl beside it housed her everyday earrings and bracelets. Her MP3 player, that even now attempted to wake her up with a jaunty tune. But its owner wasn't here.

Approaching the device, I pushed the dismiss button on the radio it had been plugged into to charge. The song ceased playing immediately.

She'd be at church now, shaking hands with the elderly, standing and sitting on queue, singing hymns with glimmering eyes. Was she there today? Praying for my salvation to a god I didn't believe in, requesting help from the priest after mass? It wouldn't make a difference. I looked toward her window, smiling softly when I saw a small, lone cactus sitting on the sill. Keeping my eyes locked on the plant, I made my way toward the succulent only to see more masking tape on the sill 'Drench the soil on SUNDAYS'. She wrote the day of the week in large letters, most likely having a difficulty keeping to a routine, she made a note to herself to avoid confusion.

Considering Mireille would most likely be here within the next few days to collect her belongings, or with the police to arrest me, I decided not to water her plant. It could stand the thirst, it was a cactus, a hardy plant which didn't need much nutrients.

XXXXX

I stared at my finished work, admiring the reddish flush of the flesh near the Joker's wounds and the dark stitches holding them closed. It was odd seeing the porcelain man with such striking contrasts against his skin, but I knew the scars they made would turn white and blend like all the others. Even now, the three parallel lines from three months ago had faded to a faint shade of pink. "And you know how to medicate him?" I asked Harley, buttoning up the man's now clean shirt. "No food two hours before or three hours after the pills?"

"Yeah, Doc. I'm all set. Thanks, though." I nodded, finally turning away. I'd done it, I had helped save the Joker and no doubt many other doctors who would have been roped into this mess. I felt good, doing my part.

"I think I should be off then." I casually mentioned leaving. "I have an early shift tomorrow and I need some rest."

"Oh yeah, Rocco, show the Doc her quarters." Harley smiled, beckoning the wall of a man over from where he sat in the corner. For the past few hours of work, he and Harley would banter as they kept their eyes on me to ensure I didn't try anything 'funny'. He seemed a nicer man than Henshaw, but he did have quite a mouth on him when riled up. "I've got quite a few goons for her to see in the morning."

"N-no," I froze, my heart rate rising almost instantly as I attempted to process her statement. "I need to get back to Arkham, to my family." I looked between them both, hoping for a 'you shoulda seen yah face' or 'just kiddin, yah so serious'. There was no such exchange.

"No you don't, yah fiance ditched you. And if you wanna keep what remains of yah relatives, you'll comply." Harley's happy grin from before became toothy and wide. "Yah parents still live in the area, right? And yah baby cousins in Washington state?" I listened in horror as she began listing their addresses off one at a time from a file Henshaw provided. A file that looked strikingly similar to the one Monsieur J was found with in Arkham. "Tell me something now… Mimi." The blonde referenced the file again. "Do the Joker and his gang seem the type to make empty threats? Or are you gonna walk out of here now, signin off on us doing as we please with yah family."

I stared at the file that even now was heavily decorated with stickers, highlights, and tags. That sort of effort wasn't made without deliberate thought, without motive. I could attempt leaving, tell my parents to run, but odds are they'd find them. Shuddering, I thought of what the criminals would do, images from all of Jonathan's vile horror movies flashing through my mind. They didn't bluff. None of them did. Crossing my arms over my chest, I asked in a quiet voice. "If I stay, they'll be safe. You, you won't try and prove a point."

"Nah, that'd be unnecessary." Harley walked over and pinched my chin to analyze my face. "Words seem enough for now. I'm a bit disappointed though, I'd hoped you would put up more of a fight."

"I'm not gambling with their lives." I retorted, disgusted by the idea of leaving them in the hands of such a ruthless band of criminals. After a moment, I added something on impulse. "But the moment you break your promise of keeping them safe, you're risking his." I jutted my thumb behind me, to where the Joker rest in his bed. "Don't think I was only taught how to fix things in medical school. I also learned exactly how to break them."

She and Henshaw glared, clearly upset that I had put my own threat on the board. One that dealt with their bosses life.

Just as Harley opened her painted lips, either to refute my claim or offer a counter, another person joined the conversation. "Heh heh heh heh, see Harles? Told you she was funny."

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, I really wanted to keep my promise about getting a chapter out today and I’d rather it be a short, complete chapter than a large, rushed one. Until the next update, please feel free to guess who Mireille’s captor is.


End file.
